Moorfields, the scene of Wesley’s earliest evangelistic labours, and where he opened his Foundery meeting-house, was what would now-a-days be called a park, laid out in grass plots, intersected by broad gravel walks, and the favourite resort of citizens seeking exercise and recreation. Beneath a row of well grown elms was what the promenaders designated “the city mall,” and which in the smartness of its company often rivalled the mall of St. James’s Park. Here might be seen wives and daughters flaunting in all their finery and displaying their charms to city maccaronis, whose hats were cocked diagonally, and who gave themselves quite as many airs as the aristocratic coxcombs in the royal grounds. Under the trees were booths, whose fans, toys, trinkets, and confectionery found ready purchasers; while on the grass plots were erected mountebank diversions for the amusement of the people. What a contrast between London then and London now! And yet, even then, London was thought to be dangerously too large. An able writer, in one of the magazines for 1762, argued that great cities are perilous to a nation’s welfare; and in proof quoted Nineveh, Babylon, Persepolis, Tyre, Carthage, Rome, Athens, Memphis, Baalbec, Palmyra, Thebes, Jerusalem, etc. He contended that it was pernicious policy to suffer the eighth part of an entire nation to live in one crowded town; for when so many myriads lived on ground which produced nothing they were under the necessity of living by their wits—that is, by sharping and over-reaching, and by inventing idle and vicious amusements. Hence it was that in London there was such a multiplication of playhouses, operas, ridottos, and masquerades; and that almost one-half of some of the London parishes was converted into brothels by bawds and pimps. The anonymous alarmist was doubtless treated with contempt, but his theory deserves attention.